The Cruelest Cut
by Kilonji
Summary: Ichigo asks a favor. Spoilers for manga chapters 210 and above.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach and any rumors saying that I do are just plain mean.

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It was no longer a matter of "if." It was a matter of "when." What was once a timid question had become a bold statement, buzzing in her ears and screaming in them when she least wanted it to. Sometimes she would shake her head and blink hard, a physical incantation against it that never really worked. And then the tears would come. Kuchiki Rukia had been reduced to a sobbing idiot. 

Of course Ichigo had started it. He had no tears of his own. She would give him hers.

That night, the Allankars gone and all the others having retreated to their own shelters, they walked home in the moonlight, speechless, exhausted. He wanted to carry her. She snapped at him. He fell silent. This was not his natural state and his quiet made her worry all the more. She had seen him. She had seen "It." Ink in the eyes, wisps of bone in the hair. Had the fight gone on much longer he would have given in to it. This they both knew but would not say out loud. And so their muteness ruled them all the way back to the clinic. They managed to climb in through the window, as usual, and he slipped back into his own body while she wandered into the bathroom to examine herself.

Between the farce she liked to call her breasts was a tiny, pink scar. Far less than she expected, but hell, Orihime did good work. She marveled at the smoothness of it as she ran her fingertips across it, one by one. She was so engrossed in this activity that she did not hear him come up behind her.

Damn. She'd forgotten to close the fucking door and here he was, all pubescent and shirtless, gazing at her. Not gawking, in the way she'd seen him do at some naked girl book he'd gotten from Keigo. _Gazing._ His mouth hung slightly open and his fists were clenched. It wasn't until she turned to throw a tart word in his direction that she caught his eyes.

The gleam in them was unbearable. "Rukia," his voice rasped, all his guilt spilling over her name. He had failed her. She was hurt. As her tongue fumbled for the right soothing words, his hands reached forward and touched that spot. The fresh symbol of his helplessness.

But the shiver that shot through her had nothing to do with despair. Her eyes flickered from his hands to his eyes. Her mind was indignant-- _watch those hands, you orange haired bastard_-- but the gigai knew what other uses a human body had. Some of them were not work-related. It reacted to the now exploring teenage hands with something close to hunger, without the telltale rumbling in the tummy. She was musing on how easily the faux body could lead the mind astray when she felt he wetness in her eyes spilling over to her cheeks. And then the hands wandering upward. She could not look away from his face. How the brow knit just _so_ when his thumbs brushed away the stupid tears, and how he licked his lips before setting them to her forehead. And then his hands sliding down her neck and lower, stopping at her waist and pulling her forward. It was only when her face was buried in his chest that she finally closed her eyes. She felt his lips again on her temple and then listened to his slowly calming breath. And then he said it.

"Promise me you'll end it if he takes me."

That's when she went cold. That's when the tears started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it, I'm just borrowing its inspiration.

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Once the words were out there they could not be taken back. You knew this when you said them but you said them anyway. And they grew in the silence around you, as big as they could get without echoing, but whispering them would have done the job because now you know without a doubt these were the words she did not want to hear. 

She would have pulled away, maybe even smacked you if you'd let her. But at that moment your focus was your own pain, which ironically was the pain of knowing you'd hurt her. You don't want to see her face. You don't want to witness the tears that are slipping from her cheeks to your chest to the floor. As long as she is held tight against you, you can pretend this is a different kind of embrace altogether. Until she starts to shake and there is no denying her grief.

As your legs buckle under you and you slide to the floor you pull her with you, hands stroking her hair as your knees hit the ground and hers give out completely. She is a rag doll. You hug her with every ounce of strength you have. You blink, and blink again and wonder where your own tears are. But of course they aren't coming. That's what having him within you has done, and part of you is almost grateful. Crying along with her will not help her.

So you are patient, you will yourself not to move, just let her have at it until she is too tired to mourn you anymore. But as her tiny hands ball themselves and strike at you, it becomes clear she will not tire easily. _It figures_, you think to yourself as you move your hands to her head and push just enough so she can look at you. And as you look at her, you know this was not the right thing to do. She is flushed, her eyes red and earnest, and all you can think of is how soft her skin is and how deep and blue her eyes are. The tears are still coming and her mouth is set in and hard frown. You move to soften those lips with your own. For once she does not fight, and maybe it's the shock but you don't care. Once set on that path, you are determined to follow it. You take complete advantage and allow yourself the luxury of thinking she might not be minding too much, seeing as she has not pushed you away.

It's different than you pictured it. Of course, she had never figured into your adolescent fantasies before, even when she was in your closet and pretty much ripe for the taking. You were too honorable then. You had a reputation. You liked girls. A lot. But you were not a pervert. That was your old man's territory.

So here you are, kissing a girl for the first time, and it's not about any kind of teenage lust. She is the only one you know will come through for you. They all say they will, and you know they mean it. But she is the one who takes care of business. She is a rock.

And she is soft all over. You knew this before you ever touched her. Which, you think as you ease her onto the floor and let your hands do as they wish, may be why it's so easy for it to be her and no one else. She is the one who really knows what you mean. She is the one who carries within herself a part of you. She is the only one you trust to do the deed when the time comes, and in the morning she will hate you for it, but she will do it.

_Damn_, you think, _now this is really just fucked up_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it, I'm just borrowing its inspiration.

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She had not given him an answer. This would be her saving grace, the only thing that kept the dark at bay. 

At breakfast he would watch her when he thought no one was looking, as if hoping that expressive face would betray just a hint of her thoughts. But aside from being a shinigami she was also an excellent actress. She bullshitted with Karin, flirted with goat-face and cooed at Yuzu as if there was nothing out of place and the world had not caved in on her just a few hours ago.

Inwardly she hoped she was completely pissing Ichigo off. She knew she'd find out soon enough.

The walk to school was damn near intolerable. Again he was silent. So was she. Quiet was nothing to her. If he opened his mouth again, knowing him, he would ask her to give her word.

And she didn't want to do that.

When she spied Inoue out of the corner of her eye, she was relieved. There was nothing on the good green earth as wonderful as the potential for Orihime's mindless prattling at that moment. But even that was scarce in supply. As she fell in with them she looked like a steadily dimming star. Inoue's face was drawn; the telltale dark circles had formed under her eyes. She had put in a long, hard night's work and Rukia cursed herself for wanting the girl to be anything but tired and worried. "Inoue-san, are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, Kuchiki-san, thank you."

"You should have stayed home today, Inoue. You look worn out." His first words of the morning, hurled in an almost unfeeling way at a girl who obviously adored him.

"No, Kurosaki-kun, I needed to be out today." Then more of the not talking.

Then, just when Rukia thought she would crawl out of her skin because of the tension, he asked Orihime a question, his voice gentle. "Are Hitsugaya and Matsumoto coming?"

"N-no," the girl answered, staring at the ground. "Shiro-chan is still weak and Rangiku-san wanted to watch over him."

Ichigo stepped close to her, almost touching. "He was wounded not too long ago. He may still have been a little weak from that, Inoue. You did all you could, and that's more than anybody else." And then he looked up, and Rukia wanted to strike him down. Hard. The words had been aimed at both of them.

But they had their desired effect on Orihime. She smiled, albeit weakly, and thanked him. There was no need for any of them to speak after that.

All the way to school, Ichigo and Orihime walked side by side, while Rukia trailed a few feet behind them. She prayed they would not turn around and catch her wiping her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **No, I don't own it.

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Renji was in a foul mood. 

Not that it was anything unusual. Since childhood he had been of the pissy persuasion. But today, of all days, she needed him not to be.

No such luck.

"So that carrot-topped hothead fucked up last night, did he?"

She wasn't about to answer.

"Rangiku checked in with me this morning. Says Orihime put in quite a night taking care of you after she healed Hitsugaya-taichou. How did it happen?"

"He caught me off guard."

"They caught us all off guard. But there were two of you. You should have had a better chance."

She shifted on her haunches and studied her bento, the one that Yuzu took such care to make. Yuzu, Ichigo's little sister who needed him. Her stomach lurched. She didn't want to think about it, let alone talk about it. "He caught me off guard."

"You'll do better next time." He leaned close to her. No, not to her. To her lunch. "Gonna eat that?"

"You can have it."

He smirked a little and then proceeded to inhale the bento. "They're tough," he said between bites, spewing specks of rice onto his shirt. "But we can take them. We just need to keep our eyes open."

As he continued on in this vein, she gazed up at the sky and tuned him out.

_Promise me you'll end it if he takes me._

There were remarkably few clouds and the sun was like liquid.

_You did all you could, and that's more than anyone else_.

Her lips were tingling.

_All you could do._

She'd had so much practice pushing things out of her mind. Of course Ichigo's lips on hers were plenty of fodder for temporary amnesia. How long would she have sat on that precious event? And why was it precious? Was it because she felt they were living on borrowed time? If that was the case, didn't it mean in her heart of hearts she'd decided? _And shit, Renji, were you raised in a barn?_

She dug in her bag. Yuzu was nothing short of a professional. Rukia pulled out the carefully folded napkin and handed it to Renji.

She made the mistake of catching his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the concern naked on his face. "You're still hurting from last night, aren't you."

She shrugged. "He caught me off guard."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it, please don't sue.

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She has gone and changed on you. Her hair is still as black and her eyes as blue and her frame is still teeny tiny, but in the this short space of time she has morphed into something different. You only wish you knew what. 

There are no emergencies tonight, no fires to put out or hollows to put down, so you let yourself relax a little-- as much as the sense of this near stranger walking beside you in the twilight will allow. No, you shake your head. She's not a stranger. Her scent is the same, as is her light, catlike gait. She is silent, but that's normal for her when she doesn't feel like irritating you. Which is rare.

You want to ask her again. You've wanted to all day. But wherever you were, she made a point of not being there. You have the feeling that if you hadn't managed to corner her in the hall on the way out, she wouldn't even be here now. She is a hider. She is smart, very smart. And she is stubborn. She doesn't want to say the words. She will go to any lengths to avoid it. That's why she's silent.

And you can't stand it anymore.

"What are you thinking about?"

She looks at you, appraising, her eyebrows arched in a way that would have warned of a smackdown in the past. "Did you enjoy your lunch?"

"It was okay." Of course it was. She's quite the chef, sweet little Yuzu of the soft eyes and light brown hair. A bad lunch from her is an excellent lunch from anywhere else.

"I couldn't eat mine. I let Renji have it. He might come and eat with us sometime."

"Oh, joy." You can't contain the sarcasm and she knows it.

"Yeah. He can talk with his mouth full while your dad fights him for the soy sauce. It'll be a match we could charge admission for." And then she giggled. And you look at her, and dammit, she really is smiling. _This is bad in soooo many ways_, you think.

And she's looking at you and you know she's about to laugh. How? And fuck, why? But she doesn't laugh. The smile stays put though. "Do you have much to do tonight?"

"Not really. Why?"

"There's something I need to do."

Two drawings on white paper with soft lead. She's still terrible but she's gotten better, and maybe it's because she's not drawing bunnies. The first was of you in your regular clothes, sitting at your desk with your chin in your hand. She made you close your eyes a little bit. "You look better sleepy," she told you.

"Couldn't Kon have done this?"

"Yeah, like you want that pervert roaming around in your body for this." Damn her, she's right. She is cross legged on the floor, and her brow is furrowed. She is trying hard, really hard, and you know you would have regretted refusing to pose for her. In fact, in light of last night, you would not have even objected to posing naked.

You shift a little. Damn puberty. It's always got to get a word in edgewise. But it's not as though you haven't thought about the kiss all day. Because you have, from breakfast on. The thoughts followed a circular repeating pattern. You kissed her last night, and you think she even kissed you back a little. Why did you kiss her? What difference does it make why; it was damn good and you can't wait to do it again! Kisskisskisskisskiss. And then some heavy petting. Definitely. And when it's all over and she has done the deed and your life is ebbing away, you can think to yourself you didn't completely die a virgin. Technically. And why the hell is it so easy to accept dying? Jeez that's fucked up. But you kissed her! And she might have even kissed you back a little!

The eraser striking the side of your head signals the end of the first sketch. _She gets points for accuracy_, you think as you stand and stretch. But then there's the flicker in the corner of you eye and you don't see her coming at you _with that damned glove_ until it's too late, your body is on the floor and you're standing before her in your shinigami form, Zangetsu cool and familiar at your back.

"What the hell, Rukia?"

"I want to have both." She's already turned the page in her notebook and is situating herself on your bed. She looks up at you, intent. "Be still."

And so you are still for a long while, which is a feat for you, until eventually your body relaxes and your mind starts to wander. And so do your eyes. She's not wearing Yuzu's clothes anymore. Her shirt is short sleeved and red, her jeans low cut and deep denim blue. Almost as dark as her eyes. As your gaze wanders up her legs and to her midriff you take in breath at the sight of her exposed belly. Hmmmmmmmm. She's hot as hell and you're not just thinking that because she's the first female you've ever taken liberties with. And as the examination moves upward you catch the sight of her tongue tip poking slightly out between those lips. Damn puberty. Your mind wanders to greener fields in which the shirt is lower cut and you're close enough to touch.

"There."

You look up at her and she is closing the notebook.

"That was fast."

"I'm not that good. What were you thinking about?"

"Allankars," you say.

"You want to _do_ an allankar?" She makes a face and points at your crotch. You feel yourself go crimson, and thankfully, the embarrassment is enough to drive away all signs of your being worked up. You sigh and hang your head.

But she is smiling. Again. "I will do it," she said. "If it comes to that." Then why the hell is she smiling? "But you have to promise me something."

Always a catch with her. She stands and stretches, limber as a willow branch, and comes close to you. You try to avoid her eyes. "Do you know what just happened?" She asks.

_Well... yeah, duh. _ But you can't say it aloud. Just can't. But then she is coming forward and up, until she is close enough to lean forward and touch her lips to yours. And it's not soft. It's hard and hot and you can barely stand it when she pulls away. And looks at you. And, dammit, smiles again.

"You're still alive. You're here and you're warm and you can't fight that. And if you want to, you can stay that way. And if you stay that way, I can stay here." She puts her hand on your chest, just above where your heart is doing some weird breakdance. "I'll end it if he takes you, but you have to promise it'll never come to that."

And as you look at her you know she's turned the tables on you. It's your choice. Exist for death or exist to _live_. And your pubescent nature helped her to do it. Damn puberty. But no, this is how it is, and you're the one who makes the promise. And she smiles at you again and you get to do a little heavy petting.

Later, when she isn't looking, you peek at the pictures. They're awful. But you can see yourself in them, and the you that is there is a living, breathing being. The you she once told you she held in her heart. And you know your job now is to keep yourself there. _That's just fucked up_, you think.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Nah, still don't own it.

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It was no longer a question of "when." It was a question of "if." She wasn't much of a linguist but "if" was suddenly her favorite word. 

Because "if" isn't written in stone. "If" is never definite. "If" cannot hold her to her word, not in the way "never" holds him to his. So she could spend the rest of her days thinking how "if" saved her life.

And it did, she knew. Kuchiki Rukia owed her existence to a two letter word.

Sometimes, late at night when the twins were asleep, he would wait for her to slip down the hall to his room, and she would make him promise over and over again. He was all too willing. And she was glad of it. And a little proud of herself.

And, she concluded, as she lay with her head on his chest, rising and falling slowly as he drifted off to sleep, a lot in love with him. Which was necessary. But pleasant.

She knows his promise is only as strong as his resolve. She knows there is no guarantee. She need only keep his resolve alive and burning as fiercely as her own.

She swore to herself she would not waste another tear on him. Ever.

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**A/N: **Yes, folks, this is the end. It's been a rollercoaster and I'm totally grateful you all came along for the ride. There's more to come, just not soon, 'cause let's face it, I need a short break. :) Happy reading and writing, guys, and I'm watching for all of you. 


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